Dunadan
by browneyed-girl
Summary: CHAPTER 19 UP A lost young woman from another world is rescued by a mysterious ranger - romance blossoms, but how long before destiny will intervene? Set just before Fellowship, this might be a longish one. My first fic, all comments welcome :)
1. Part 1 the meeting

***Ummm… ok… hi. I'd love it if people posted reviews, but don't be too hard on me, it's my first time ;) hope you enjoy it.***

  


DISCLAIMER: Belong to me, this pretty green area & hot resident ranger do not. (but I can wish…)

  
  


When Lora opened her eyes, the sky above her was dappled green. She blinked, and tried to focus. The colours sharpened at the edges slowly, and she saw that she was in a forest, with a thick roof of leaves. She started up, and quickly fell back again with the ache that lanced through her back and thighs. Slowly, rubbing her elbow where she had fallen, she pulled herself up, and looked around, brushing her dark hair from her face. 

_A forest. Ok. What kind are these trees? I don't know. Maybe horse chestnuts? Very tall, big green leaves. How far does the forest go? Can I see a clearing? Over there, maybe, there's more light through the trees there. It could be raining and you wouldn't know, so many leaves up there. What lives here? Can't hear anything except trees, can't smell anything except trees. Go carefully now, don't know what's in these woods._

She turned and headed cautiously towards the place where golden light filtered with green streamed through a clearing in the forest roof. She stumbled forward over twisted roots and twigs in the invisible undergrowth, and soon came to an area covered in smooth grass, refreshing to her eyes with its emptiness. Suddenly, she stood totally still. There was a ring of stones in the clearing, kicked around a bit but unmistakably there, with still-smouldering sticks in it.

_Why didn't I smell the smoke?_

She cautiously glanced around the clearing, and walked towards the empty fire. Now she got closer she could smell something, but it wasn't woodsmoke. Suddenly she noticed some ash-tarred but still green plants mixed in with the sticks.

_He burns herbs with the wood to hide the smell - doesn't want to be noticed - I must have surprised him… or her. That means that they must still be close._

As she stood up, Lora became aware of something else, like an airlessness, and suddenly she froze, without even understanding why. It took a few seconds for her to comprehend, as her mind went into automatic.

_Don't move. Why not? Cold steel. My skin. Oh God, there's a knife at my throat. Don't move, please god don't move._

A male voice, so close to her that his warm breath on her ear sent shivers down her neck despite herself, edging her fear. "These woods are dangerous for those that should not be here." Forcing herself through her paralysis, Lora stammered out "I… I do not know where I am". 

A sarcastic voice cut through her panic. _That's great, well done. Now he knows you're helpless. Idiot to have missed him, how easily can a grown man hide?_

"you must have been lost for some days, young one" he growled "the trees hide the paths for ten miles all ways the winds blow".

"I don't mean to hurt anyone… I… ah… I don't know how I came here. I don't know where I am" she repeated, stuttering, her whole being concentrated on the three centimetres of hairline blade on her pulse. There was a silence. Slowly, explosively, Lora felt the cold leave her throat. She did not move until she could see the blade in front of her turned downwards, then she drew in a breath so deep her lungs hurt, and she fought to keep from collapsing as her muscles relaxed.


	2. Part 2

  


He stepped back swiftly, denying her support, and she nearly fell over as she turned to face him. He was tall, and his long dark hair fell about his face and shoulders, his skin pale under his five-day beard. He wore a dark tunic beneath a wood-coloured cloak, and a sword hung sheathed at his side, his hand loosely grasped around the hilt. Despite her shock, she couldn't help wondering where he had put the knife, which had silently disappeared from view entirely. When he spoke again, she noticed the accent; it was soft, lilting, but she could not place it.

"You will tell me your name, and your business in these woods".

It was not a question. Lora took a deep breath, and forced her numb throat to produce a sound, almost unrecognisable to her.

"I told you, I don't have any business here. I don't know where I am. I'm not from this place, I just woke up and I was here, I don't know anything".

_You're babbling. Stop. Wake up._

She cleared her throat, and started again. "Listen. I don't know who you are, and I don't know where I am. That's all". 

He watched her silently, his deep grey eyes holding her like a vice as she tried to see the thoughts behind them. Finally his gaze flickered away, dismissing her, and Lora drew a breath, her heartbeat resuming its sullen thud.

"I have no time to question you now; I will take you to the lord of these lands. He will know what to do with you. These are the forests of Rohan, and foolish are those that wander here needlessly, lost or no".

He had already turned away from her and begun to scatter the remains of his fire with his scuffed boots as he finished, "you will come with me now. I hope you can walk, girl".

She glared at him, her irritation overriding her fear. "My name is Lora".

He ignored her, picking up his pack now.

"I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me who you are", she called a little too loudly in her despair. He was already walking out of the clearing, not even checking that she was following him, as he called back, "My name is Strider". 


	3. Part 3

  
  


Lora didn't think she'd ever been so miserable. Her hair stuck to her forehead, her legs and feet ached, her face and hands were cut, and still he walked. Every scratch and insect bite increased her hot fury towards the silent figure ahead of her. To take her mind of the walk, she tried to burn a hole in the back of his head with her stare, imagining his black hair starting to smoke and crackle, and his startled yell. Maybe he'd walk into a tree. Despite herself she giggled, and he turned irritably. She resumed her glaring, and looked down just in time to avoid tripping over a root.

At least he knew where he was going, although he seemed to always be choosing the darkest and thickest ways to get there. Lora glanced up at him again, wondering for the upteenth time at how he picked his remarkably silent way across the thorns and twigs, which always seemed to let him pass unscathed and then attempt to tear her to pieces. He hadn't said a word all day except for the occasional brusque command, even when they stopped to drink and eat a little, though for shorter than she would have liked.

_What kind of a name is Strider, anyway?… 'Foolish are those who wander here needlessly'… what are these woods? He's obviously been here before, but why? He's not just a traveller, he's been living in the wild. He's no hermit either, though._

She sighed again, looking up at the seemingly solid green roof above them. At first it had been pleasant, but now it was almost oppressive, as if the air under it was slowly running out.

_Never seen so many trees… _

There was something strange about this forest, which he had called Rohan. She never saw any of the birds she heard, their calls muted by the leaves, and though they crossed animal tracks, she had seen nothing moving. Once or twice Lora could have sworn that there were suddenly tree-roots where there had been only earth before, as if they were rising in response to the tread of feet above them. However, she dismissed this as morbid from her tired brain.

_Just concentrate on walking._

It was definitely getting darker.

She didn't notice that he had stopped until she almost fell over him. They were in another small clearing, if you could call it that. It actually was more as if the sower of the forest had missed a tree, and left a vacant spot.

"We will stop here tonight" he said, dropping his pack and stretching. 


	4. Part 4

  
  


Lora sat down abruptly on a mossy log, and rubbed her aching feet resentfully. They ate and drank in silence, as high above them the forest roof became a many-layered darkness. She was very hungry, and the meal of hard bread, dried meat and shrivelled fruit was not satisfying. She could feel the man's eyes on her while she ate, and she became uneasy. Finally she burst out, "Can't we have a fire?", and immediately felt weak.

"It is better not to draw attention to ourselves at night", he said, picking himself off the ground like a cat. He pulled off his cloak, and threw it to her as he walked into the trees. He muttered, "Try to sleep. I'll be back soon", and disappeared into the shadows. Lora watched the spot for a while, but he did not reappear. His cloak was light - surprisingly so, in fact - and very warm. It smelt good, like smoke and green earth, and rain. Reassured that he would return, Lora wrapped herself in it, and closed her eyes.

* * *

The ranger made his way through the watchful forest, the lack of light not slowing him. Now he was alone, as he preferred to be, he could think. He was much more bothered by the girl than he should be… there was something strange about her unexplained presence here, something wrong, quite apart from the perplexing circumstances. How she had managed to just appear in the centre of the forest with no tracks, traces or signs to reveal her, not triggering any of the snares that he himself had left only days before. Dressed as a ranger, if female rangers had ever existed, but with no pack. And then for her to be caught so easily! And so young... she could not be so skilled, even if she had proved to be hardier than he expected over the day.

He shook his head to clear it of thoughts, and coming to a huge old oak tree, turned left, ducking under a low branch. So was she telling the truth, then? Her story seemed implausable, to say the least, but she seemed... honest. If his instincts were correct, then the only possibilities involved magic. That ruled out orcs, at least, and she was no mage.

He came to a slight clearing inhabited by a huge dark bush, prickly and dense, and knelt, listening carefully to the night. Finally he ducked and rolled through a low, practically invisible opening in the thorny branches, disappearing from view. The forest was still for a few moments, a shape separated itself from the shadow of a thin tree trunk, and moved effortlessly and noiselessly through the air to an overhanging branch, and for an instant twin points of red gleamed in the dark from where it settled.

  



	5. Part 5 the dream

She woke, still dreaming of sand in her ears, mouth, hair. Something had her in its grasp and was shaking her back and forth - she opened her eyes but couldn't see, and flailed out in her panic, hitting something hard. The pain in her knuckles woke her up, and as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness she made him out, crouched carefully on the ground nearby, watching her with his hand at his mouth. He coughed, guardedly. "I was trying to wake you. You cried out." 

"Well what do you expect!", snapped Lora, suddenly furious, "Shaking me like that! What are you trying to do? Get away, let me sleep". 

He looked at her, surprised, and asked, "What did you dream?".

Lora was as taken aback as the man was by his own question, and she forgot to be angry or secretive until she had answered. "There was sand everywhere, and I was being buried…" she unthinkingly brought her hands to her face, as she had in her sleep, and brushed them through her hair. Suddenly she looked straight at him. "Who are your people?".

"The Dunedain", he answered, and immediately cursed himself, before he saw that she did not recognise the name. She continued to watch him, and he grudgingly explained, "We are an ancient people of the north, now wanderers through middle earth, called Rangers by those whose places we pass through. I am called Strider here."

She frowned, rubbing her ear, and said grumpily, "Strider is a stupid name". He laughed, and she raised an eyebrow. "You can laugh, then?".

"Yes. And yes, it is. I have many names, one for each place. Aragorn, Elessar, The Dunedan, the Northern Walker, many more…". She smiled in the dark, and pulled his cloak around her again from the ground. "There are no people in this forest to call you Strider except for me, yes?"

"Yes".

Lora lay down again, and he lost sight of her for a second. "Well I won't. You will have to have a new name for this place. What did you say your people were called?"

"The Dunedain".

"I'll call you Dain, then… if that's alright". She yawned as she spoke, and closed her eyes. Aragorn yawned too, to his annoyance, and to make up for it, asked her again as she drifted into sleep, "Where do you come from?".

He thought she had ignored him, or was already asleep, when she whispered as he settled himself against a tree-root, "…some kind of war…".


	6. Part 6 escape, and capture

  
  


The forest was black, the leaves and branches above blocking the moonlight like thick blankets. For the first time in two days, the ranger slept, and dreamed of another place, long ago; another forest, another girl, a girl older than the trees that stood there. Next to him, Lora lay still under his cloak. Her eyes were open.

She watched the man intently, trying to make out his face in the dark. She rustled the cloak, and then coughed softly, still watching him sleep. Discerning no movement, she carefully got up, shivering slightly as she abandoned her blanket to the dead leaves; there were two packs now, hunched side by side like gravestones, one draped in something. She picked it up - it was another cloak, obviously made for a child, or someone small, but it was warm, although not as light as the rangers'. When she stood up something hitched in his breathing briefly, and she stopped still. Nothing moved, nothing changed in the clearing. Satisfied, Lora shouldered the smaller pack, and crept into the even blacker shades between the trees. She looked back at the man once, her expression unreadable in the darkness, and whispered, "Bye bye, Dain", before she disappeared in silence.

* * *

All day she had watched him, tried to learn the way he moved, but she still found that she had to half his speed to get at least a portion of the way to silence. She also could not make out where she was going, but only knew she had to go in a straight line, to get as far from him as possible before daybreak - this was harder than she imagined, however, with trees and roots blocking her way constantly. More than once she became completely disoriented in particularly dense growth, and emerged from it ten minutes with the distinct feeling she was back where she had entered. Still, Lora knew she was getting somewhere. As she walked she tried not to think about what she would do, when she got out of the forest, if she did.

"You must have been lost for some days, young one", he had said, his knife on her skin. She touched her throat involuntarily, remembering. How long had she been in this place, now? A day? She had woken up a day ago, and before that… nothing. Surely she had been here forever, she could never have known any light but green or black, never been in a space without trees standing watch all around.

Lora dug her nails into her arm.

_Steady now, don't get panicky. That's the last thing you need…_ she thought, and tried to concentrate on something else. Being silent, walking. Just walk. Strange, how different this had been in the daytime, even though not much light managed to get down. And he had been there, knowing the way, moving so quickly and quietly, but always stopping and waiting so still when she fell behind, all too often.

"I'm not going to be interrogated by any lord", Lora muttered defiantly to herself to bolster her spirits, but feeling the worse for it immediately. "And it's too late to change my mind now anyway. Just keep - "

She stopped suddenly and listened, her head down, suppressing the urge to look around wildly into the pitch black. She had heard a whisper. A cold slithering hiss, so near her, above her head, and her heart was beating so loudly that the thing could probably see her, 

_I'm going mad, I must be imagining things I must be, but that branch just whispered to me…_

Lora broke free of her fear and tried to run, but couldn't. Something was holding her every muscle stiff, like an invisible spider-web, and there was sand in her ears and mouth and hair, and she was being buried, suffocated. The black from the forest gained entrance to her head, and she fell, her eyes open in terror.


	7. Part 7

  
  


The abandoned ranger crashed through the black-shadowed forest, caring nothing for the noise he made in his fury. How could he have been so stupid as to trust her? She had tricked him with her yawning, and her quiet smile.

_Just because you give someone a name doesn't mean you plan to use it_ he thought, mentally hitting himself over the head. Although his mind burned, Aragorn's rangers' discipline ran cold beneath as he ran. He had found her trail easily, but it was hours cold - even with the dark and her slowness, she must be several miles away by now. He picked up his speed as best he could through the dense trees and uneven ground, driven by a sense of urgency he could not explain, and did not try to.

Even though his eyes were better than most mens', he was finding it hard to follow Lora's increasingly scatty trail with her irrational detours, and he nearly lost her path where she had forced her way through a gap that he could not manage. It occurred to him now and then that she might be leading him into a trap, but his increasingly forceful instinct drove him forward.

The noises made by his progress seemed to violate the silence of the forest, and Aragorn could feel hostile awareness radiating from the newly-woken trees. Although this filled him with an even deeper unease, he forced himself to shield his mind to them, and willed them to ignore his presence in the dark, and the girl's too.

Suddenly he stopped. Lora's path ended, but she was nowhere to be seen. Momentarily confused, he looked around wildly to see if he was mistaken, but he was not, and cold seized his heart. There were no signs of a struggle. He wondered for a minute, bizarrely, if she could have disappeared as swiftly as she had appeared, or whether she had never existed at all, that his solitary mind had twisted and broken without his noticing. Then his sword was drawn and in his hand, almost before he realised he had heard a noise - perhaps it was before, for it sounded like a warped echo of the whisper of steel across leather. There was another noise directly above his head, and with a shout Aragorn thrust his sword upwards into something hard, rewarded by a furious shrieking hiss. His blade was yanked upwards, but he kept hold of the hilt, and as he tried to pull it back noticed a thick black liquid trickling down the blade, running along the grooves in the beaten steel and collecting above the hilt, before spilling over. Something made the ranger let go before the substance reached his bare hands, and he watched in horrified fascination as it ate into the leather binding the grip, bubbling and smoking as it dripped onto the floor. 

The malevolent hissing redoubled, and grew in size until it filled the clearing, and Aragorn, without his sword, was filled with a dark terror. He tried to fight it and reached for his dagger, but fear crept into his mind and froze him stiff; as he fell senseless to the floor he thought he could hear a girl screaming.


	8. Part 8 the dark place

  


***Quite a few people now have asked me to write longer chapters - I'm trying to do that, but I don't want to squish the previous chapters together, although I realise it's irritating that they're short, because I'll lose all the reviews. If anyone knows a way to do this without losing them, let me know please. Thanks a lot for all the nice comments by the way, they never fail to make me smile J I hope you continue to enjoy the story, I know I am. - Anna***

  
  


Lora drifted painfully out of her dream, and opened her eyes to pitch darkness. She shut them, then opened them again, but the black outside her eyes was thicker, if possible, than the one within.

_My head… what happened? Where am I? I'm so sleepy… there's no air in here. Wherever here is._

The suffocating darkness weighed on her, and she thought perhaps she was still in her dream, that the air in her mouth and nose was really sand. _Always wondered what happens when you die in a dream… maybe this is it. I should shout or something... no, I'm too tired to move. What's the point? I'm dead, there's no light anymore…_

A husky voice spoke quietly into the stale air, "Lora". _Lora. That's my name. Somebody calling me. Nobody calls me in my dreams. Only a man called Dain who walks through the forest, and follows me wherever I try to go…_

"Lora, are you awake?"

_Yes. Yes, I'm awake, ranger of the North. I will be awake._

Lora forced herself to raise her head. She was sitting against something hard, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hands seemed to be stuck together - she could not feel her fingers.

"I'm tied up", she muttered, pulling her cold arms from around her legs and trying to find the bonds with her teeth.

"So am I. Don't try to bite it, it's strong cord. Try to come towards me - I cannot reach my knife."

_Surely he can't see me?_

Setting her jaw against the pain from her head and back, Lora rolled onto her knees, balancing with difficulty on her bound wrists, and shuffled the unseen two feet towards Dain's voice. He was sitting still, his knees drawn up and his back straight.

"It's in my left boot, on the inside heel", he whispered, much closer than she had thought, startling her. Lora hastily scrabbled around the top, her fingers losing more feeling by the second as she searched. Finally she touched something hard and smooth, and pulled at it; she nearly dropped it back into his boot, it slid out so easily.

"Cut yourself free first - my hands are behind my back".

With great difficulty, Lora manoeuvred the knife to saw at her bonds, trying desperately to keep control of her icy hands. _Even if I did take a finger off, I probably wouldn't notice, I can't feel them …and it was in his boot all along. Ridiculous place to keep a knife._

The last loop of the cord broke, and Lora's hands sprang apart. Her ankles took less time to free. She turned to Dain at last, more confident now with her hands loose, and the not-altogether-unpleasant sensation of having the ranger powerless before her. "Turn around, so I can reach your hands", she said, brusquely, rubbing her legs. He hesitated, for the first time. " …I can't. There's no room".

Lora paused, unsure, then, reaching for his wrists, awkwardly put her arms around him. He was warm; she could feel the strength in his shoulders as she gradually leant against him, wanting so much suddenly to rest there. His breath on the bare skin beneath her ear made her shiver, and she fervently blessed the thick darkness as heat rose to her face. It seemed an eternity before the bonds around his hands parted, but Dain could have been a statue for all the notice he took of her, of how close she was to him. And suddenly he was free, and Lora moved away quickly, aware that her control might not last much longer. She sat, silent, as he freed his ankles.

_I'm just tired, and cold, and weak. He is strong, and I need that. It's nothing. Nothing I can't handle, it'll pass. I hope it passes, because I don't think I can get away from him again… _


	9. Part 9

*** It's no longer I'm afraid, I've got revision and stuff to do at the moment so I don't get as much time to write as I want. I make no apologies :p please continue to review, I love them! Hope you like chapter 9 ***

  
  


"What do we do now?"

Lora and Dain sat opposite each other in the pitch blackness, chewing the last of the bread that Dain had had in his pocket. It tasted older than them, but was welcome nonetheless. They had been sitting there for some minutes now, silently nursing the feeling back into their limbs, before Lora finally ventured the question. She had begun to shiver with the cold, and her back was aching from being bent in the small space.

_And he's so much taller than me… nothing bothers him though. He probably doesn't even notice._

His uncomplaining silence, and, although to a lesser degree perhaps, the knowledge that he must be suffering just as much as she was, gave Lora strength, and a certain amount of satisfaction. To her annoyance, when she realised this, she felt a pang of guilt.

_He should blame me for this, it's my fault we're here… I should have known he'd come after me, he's only doing his job. And he's right - I'm lost in this forest without him. I shouldn't have run away._

"I'm sorry", she blurted out suddenly, and she felt his gaze on her in the darkness. Her voice was considerably smaller as she said, "I shouldn't have left you, it was stupid, and it's my fault we're here". It was a relief when he spoke, actually sounding, to Lora's surprise, uncomfortable, strangely stiff and formal. 

"I… I see very few people in the forest, and I become… unaccustomed to behaving as I should. I should have acted more civilly towards you. I apologise".

Lora raised her eyebrows, knowing he could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "So I was the first person you'd spoken to for, what, years?". He laughed quietly. "Anyway, thanks for coming after me".

He said, his voice serious now, "I had no choice". He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. "My people are sworn to protect the inhabitants of the lands we roam. I have been in this area for some time, searching for something that I heard rumours of among the farmer's families at the edge of this forest. Men have been entering the forests to collect wood or hunt, and never returning. I had seen no traces of it or those who had disappeared, until I found you - I was suspicious of you. I thought you might be something more than what you seemed, a lure, or a trick of some kind, but now I believe you are exactly what you appeared to be", she could hear the laughter in his voice again as he concluded, "- lost".

Lora felt like growling at his slightly patronising tone as anger flooded her again, worsened by the tiny twinge of disappointment she couldn't help feeling.

_That's all it is, of course. His mission. He didn't come to rescue me, he came to recover me._

She snapped, more sharply than she meant to, "You could have told me that before. I'm not in a position to blab secrets, after all". She winced at her own tone, and quickly continued, "Whatever got me… us… do you think it's the same thing which took the people?"

He didn't answer. Lora sighed inwardly in despair, and rested her head against the hard wall of their cell. Why couldn't she just get along with him? Why did everything have to be so difficult? She turned her head to press her cheek against the wall, which although rough, was pleasantly cool on her burning skin. Then she noticed something. She brushed her hair away from her ear, and turned fully to press it against the patch warmed by her skin. "Umm… Dain… can you hear this?"

"What?"

"The wall. Put your ear against the wall." She waited, listening to his movements. He was still for a minute. Then she said impatiently, "It's humming. Can't you hear it?".

Fascinated, Lora ran her hands over the wall, which seemed to flex under her touch, and pressed her ear to another spot. As she listened, the undiluted noise seemed to flow through her and separate into strands, as if she had spread her fingers against a sheet of water. Aragorn's voice suddenly, distant and faint, and unimportant. The song so pure in her head, so beautiful, the song opening to cradle her, so easy to ignore the rough man's hand on her arm, tugging her. Cold fresh air suddenly filled her lungs, and she gasped, flailing out into open space, and fell.

  



	10. Part 10 dreams of old friends

***This one's a bit longer. I aim to please. I also have to stress again that this fic is set BEFORE FoTR, otherwise it makes no sense. At least, up to now it's been set before, but it's beginning to converge on it - I'm not absolutely sure on whether the timing of this fic fits in exactly with the book and/or movie, but it's close enough for me. Probably closer to the book, actually. Anyway, hope you all like it, and please keep reviewing, it helps me lots :) - thanks***

  
  


Lora hit something so hard that it knocked tears from her eyes. The breath driven out of her whole body, she clung to the wide, rough surface she had landed on, and stared at the endless green sky above her, or perhaps below. Her head spun painfully, but she dared not shut her eyes, in case she lost her balance and let go. She sobbed for oxygen, and the cold air felt raw in her throat. Gradually the sky returned to its proper place, and the dizziness faded, replaced by a heavy ache in her head and back, and stinging pain in her hands. Eventually she managed to focus her eyes, and found she was lying on a branch, wide enough for two of her and stretching out as far as her eyes could see in the pale light, ending in a blur of green. She did not dare to look up or down again, but shut her eyes tightly.

_Ok. I'm in a tree. I've been in worse places, I'm sure, even if I can't remember them all. At least it's light, and I can breathe. I got up here somehow, I can get down again. Heights aren't so bad, as long as you can get down from them…_

There was a light touch on her shoulder, and she jumped; Aragorn pulled her back from the edge as she swayed, hit by sickening dizziness.

When Lora opened her eyes again, she was lying flat on her back on the branch, with leaves and sky above her; considerably more sky than she had been able to see from the ground on the previous day (or could it have been longer?). Aragorn sat easily next to her, looking perfectly comfortable on the high tree-branch. She slowly, painfully, pulled herself upright, as he watched her solicitously. "Are you alright? You fell a long way."

Lora looked up. The only branch directly above them must have been over twenty feet away. However bad she felt, she knew she could not have survived that fall. However, about halfway up the before the branch, there was a wide, sticky gash in the bark of the trunk. In a flash of realisation she remembered the stifling small darkness, the life-song of the tree. "We - we were - inside there?"

"Yes. It let you out, and me, eventually." He held out his knife, still in his hand, to show her. It was covered in glutinous sap, all over the blade and hilt, and staining his fingertips yellow. He smelt strongly of pine. Aragorn suddenly reached for her hand, and she flinched as he took her bruised wrists. "Your hands are bleeding". She looked at them. They seemed to belong to somebody else, and she grinned stupidly at the look of concern on his face. He did not smile back, but looked at her gravely, and suddenly she felt cold and sick, and her headache redoubled.

Aragorn caught her before her head hit the branch, and gently pulled her to rest upright against the solid treetrunk. He pressed his cool palm against her hot damp forehead, and she opened her eyes, making him catch his breath. Dark eyes. The ranger found himself staring into them, amazed that he had not noticed before. The girl's eyes were almost black in the dim morning light, so different from the sea-grey of the men of Rohan and Gondor, and the jewel-like blue of the elves, but as bright, and as beautiful. As the word entered his mind, Aragorn backed away from her in panic, and stared straight at the rising sun to burn it from his head, but as he looked back at her, after-image dancing in his vision, he realised suddenly that Lora could not see him. Perhaps she was dreaming again, seeing only sand. Relieved, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, and stood up on the high branch, and she blinked sleepily.

"I'm going to find some water", he whispered, finding a foothold easily in the cracked bark below him. "Sleep - you'll feel better. I'll be back soon. Don't have any bad dreams…".

* * *

Many leagues away, the wizard Gandalf awoke with a start. He leapt up and was standing, staff in hand, before he had fully remembered where he was. He sighed, and slowly sat back down on the bed, which although in the human-size quarters of the Prancing Pony, was slightly too low for his aching limbs. The ride into Bree had not been easy on his old bones, and the early morning cold made him shiver under his worn grey robes. The wizard thought yearningly about more sleep, but decided regretfully that it was too light now to bother, and too cold anyway - time for breakfast. He remained sitting, though, a frown on his weathered face. 

Aragorn. Why had his old companion been so much in his mind, these past few days? Perhaps it was the familiar surroundings where he had last seen his friend, and where Gandalf now returned alone. Aragorn had always had a fondness for the Shire and its homely people, just as he had. Yet Gandalf shook his head, smiling in remembrance of the suspicion the Breefolk held 'Strider' in, especially Barliman.

"You oughtn't be mixing with them northern folk, Mr Gandalf sir", he had said disapprovingly, his fourth pint and the late hour giving him courage to tell off the usually formidable wizard. Gandalf had merely laughed into his pipe, not having the heart to rebuke the plump innkeeper. Still, he frowned now. Even laughter could not displace the vague feeling of unease the wizard had deep in his heart, which he found he could no longer ignore. Recent events, and the beginnings of a lurking suspicion that pierced him with fear whenever he thought of it, no doubt were not helping. And yet there was something else, something unconnected with all that, in which Aragorn was unmistakably involved… 

A ray of early sunlight lanced through a gap in the dusty curtains, and fell across Gandalf's knees and papery hands, brightening the grey of his robes almost to blue. _Aragorn can look after himself_, he reflected grimly. _And besides, he may soon be needed here anyway._

He shook himself, and stood up decisively. It was time for breakfast. After all, he had another old friend to visit, and a birthday to celebrate.

  



	11. Part 11 maps and the naming of places

*** I've been so busy recently, exams etc, but I really want to get this chapter up. I might edit it later, so please bear that in mind before massacring me :) thanks ***

  


Aragorn climbed swiftly and well, moving almost as lightly as an elf, despite his greater weight and size. He smiled slightly, enjoying the feel of the open air above and below him. He had been so long under the thick canopy that he had almost forgotten what the horizon looked like, and he looked at the sunrise now with satisfaction as he slowly progressed towards the lower, leafy branches, where dew would have collected. His hands were filthy where dirt clung to the sap, and he constantly had to brush his tangled, wiry hair from his face. Water… yes, water would be good. He was hungry, too, but the empty knot in his stomach was so commonplace that he no longer noticed it - she would, though. She would need food soon. And for food, they would first have to climb down. Aragorn impatiently dismissed his regret at the thought of leaving the open sky, but could not help glancing at the sunrise again briefly, and with longing. It had been so long since he'd felt its light on his face.

She was awake and lucid when he returned, and had cleaned up her scratched palms. She watched him pull himself up onto the branch again, and drank gratefully from the now half full waterskin he offered her - his last one. She looked gaunt and pale, so much so that Aragorn began to wonder about how he was to get her down, but when she spoke he was reassured. She was gazing out over the forest roof, towards the grey mist that hung low in the sky towards the north. "Dain, I was wondering - where is this forest? How far do its boundaries go, and what's beyond them?". She watched him intently, as he pointed towards the south. "The halls of the Rohirrim lie several leagues to the south of here. That is where we will go, when we have climbed down and found some food, and perhaps we can recover our packs".

She frowned slightly. "Can't we stay up here? It's nice to be able to see the sky…". He absently gazed at the blurred skyline beyond the green of the forest. "Yes, it is. But you need food, and there is none up here."

She did not answer, and he glanced at her, suddenly uneasy. She was staring stonily into the distance, her knees drawn up to her chin. Finally she said, without interest, "so what else is beyond the forest?". And, partly because he was weary of being secretive, and partly to distract her on the long climb down, he told her it all, gave her the names of Middle Earth as he had learnt them, so long ago.

When they finally reached the solid ground, the sun was high in the sky. Lora's arms and legs ached, and she had picked up a fair amount of new bruises and scratches on the way down. There had been a small triumph, though, when they reached the first layer of leafy branches - Aragorn had spotted Lora's pack hanging from a knot in the trunk. It was empty, but usable, and the waterskin in it was not slashed, although as dry as a bone. They rested briefly and drank some more, then wearily began to walk towards regions of the forest that the ranger knew were safe. "I would not leave you alone under these trees again if we were starving", he replied shortly, when Lora hesitated. She was too tired and hungry to argue. He was grim and silent again as they marched, but more careful now to pick easy paths, she noticed, and slower.

_Maybe he's actually gained some consideration. I wonder what's brought that on._

Lora also had a strange suspicion that he had not drunk from the waterskin when he had tipped it to his mouth, and had left it all for her, but she dismissed this. To prevent herself from feeling her sore feet and knawing hunger, Lora repeated the beautiful, strange names again in her head as he had spoken them, and the directions, imagining that she was filling in the blank spaces on a map.

_To the north, the Misty Mountains, Lothlorien and Rivendell, to the northwest of there the Shire. Beyond even there is Eriador and the Lost Kingdom of Arnor. To the Northeast, Mirkwood._

He had seemed reluctant to look that way somehow, towards the north, the grey low-lying mountains soon lost to sight behind the trees. His home was that way, the place of his birth, but he was evasive when Lora had asked him. "Lothlorien and Rivendell are the places of the oldest of the elves, and the Shire is home to the halfling folk"… Lora had heard the smile in his voice at those words, and remembered it as she drew her imagined map.

_To the west, the river Isen runs to the sea. To the south, the halls of the Rohirrim, the horse tamers. The gap of Rohan leads through to Gondor, beyond which is the Sea, and the port of Dol Amroth. To the east of Gondor, Minas Tirith - the white city. And to the south, desert, broken only by the Harad Road, that runs upwards, past Ephel Duath. They are the mountains of shadow, and surround Mordor in the east of middle earth._

Beautiful names.

  



	12. part 12 a grey rider

***Again, sorry for the delay guys. Please don't stop reviewing, I appreciate it so much - all suggestions or criticisms taken on board. Exams are pretty much over now, so I'll be updating more frequently from now on I hope. There were a few mistakes, I've sorted them now. Thanks for pointing that one out, Valin.***

  


It was night, the second after they had left the treetop. Aragorn had a warm, full feeling in his stomach for the first time in weeks, and he could hear Lora breathing softly and regularly nearby as he kept watch. He had finally felt they were safe enough for him to hunt, and had come across some rabbits so quickly he thought perhaps they were waiting for him. They had had a fire before it got dark, of dead fallen wood, and he had told her more about Gondor. She seemed particularly interested in what lay south of Rohan, for no reason he could fathom - he had told her of the sea, and the great ships, and the seaport of Dol Amroth, and the deadly corsairs that seldom dared to sail that far north. She had laughed, delighted by the stories, and he had delighted in telling them to such an eager listener - she had reminded him of a boy he had met, once, whom Gandalf had brought to him one day, while he was serving in Gondor. What was his name? He had loved the stories of the corsairs too, but had been more serious, a studious child, and quiet. _That was long ago_, Aragorn thought sleepily - and that had been the last time he was in the white city.

Lora shifted in her sleep, and he was disturbed from his train of thought. He had decided earlier that their only choice now was to make for the golden halls of the Rohirrim - he had no sword or pack now, and although he had his dagger and could make a bow and arrow if needs be, he felt uneasy. As he turned this over in his mind again, the light breeze in the leaves high above lulling him to sleep, he knew that it was the right decision. He had a responsibility for the girl now, and he had already proven that he could not protect her from what was in this forest… she shifted again, and he glanced over at her. The cloak was twisted around her, her face hidden by her dark hair.

She sat up so suddenly that he jumped and reached for his sword, forgetting it was gone, and a chill ran down his back as she stared at him emptily, her gaze unfocused. When she spoke, her voice was so toneless as to be almost unrecognisable, as void of expression as her eyes. "The grey rider seeks you among the horse tamers, son of Arathorn", she intoned slowly, and Aragorn had the strange feeling that she was reading to him words hanging in the air behind his head, but he was unable to tear his eyes from her face. "He feels the growing shadow, as do you. It is in this place already-" she broke off abruptly with a cry of fear, and this time Aragorn looked behind him, but there was nothing there. When he turned back, she was fast asleep again.

Far from sleepy now, Aragorn got up and stalked carefully around their camp. Either he was hallucinating, or she had dreamed of things she could not possibly know - he did not know which would be worse. The name of his father, and the grey rider. And the secret unease that lay seething in his mind, that he forgot sometimes only for it to return, greater than ever. The shadow of evil, that never went away… Gandalf, the grey wizard, he knew of it. If he was indeed coming, he would know what to do. The ranger settled down again finally, and sat, dagger in hand. _In the morning, we will move._

* * *

After being shaken awake, Lora yawned deeply, and sighed. "the sun's not even up yet!" He didn't answer, so she pulled herself up and reluctantly began to roll up her cloak. He was striding around their camp already, kicking away the remains of yesterday's fire, and ripping the bark impatiently from a large stick. He did not even look at her.

_I've changed my mind. 'Strider' suits him. Can't we stay in one place, just for a while?_

She shoved her cloak into her pack, and slowly trudged after him out of the clearing, which already looked exactly as it had when they had arrived in it.

_How does he do that?_

"We must get to the golden halls as soon as we can", he called back at her. "Events are swiftly moving beyond my control".

"They were in your control?" Lora shot back, grinning despite herself at his stony expression. "It was a joke, Aragorn", she said, ducking a low branch. She almost walked into him before she realised he had stopped, and looked up at him, caught by the strange look on his face. "What?"

"You called me Aragorn."

Lora frowned. "Don't I normally call you that?" He wheeled around and stared at her, and she took a step backwards, unnerved by the intensity of his expression.

"You gave me the name Dain. Don't you remember?"

For a moment she was taken aback. "Oh… oh yes, but wouldn't you rather be called Aragorn? It just seems more logical, really. And it's a your name! I'm sure I was calling you that yesterday, and it's not as if…" she tailed off as he suddenly advanced on her, his face a mask, and she stumbled back against a tree. She saw no recognition in him as he stared at her.

"Aragorn, stop it. What's the matter?" Her voice broke in fright, and he stopped, breathing deeply, and the strange light faded from his face. After a pause, he looked at her apologetically. "… I'm sorry, Lora. I thought - it's nothing."

"You frightened me" she said softly, her eyes wide.

"I - I'm very sorry", he said quietly, he raised his empty hands to her, looking at a loss. Lora looked up at the ranger in surprise, and the breath caught in her chest. He seemed so sad, suddenly, that she wanted desperately to reassure him, but found herself powerless to do anything but stare into his grey eyes.

_He's so alone… why didn't I notice before? Why has he felt so much pain?_

He raised his hand slowly to her face, as if struggling with some unseen force upon him, and softly touched her cheek. "I would not hurt you for the world, Lora", he whispered.

  



	13. Part 13 the strangers

***Here we go, finally. Sorry about the delay and all that :) I'm experimenting with html formatting, so forgive any mistakes I make - if it works, I'll do the other chapters too. All suggestions and criticisms welcome, as usual. Muchos Grazias to Ewa for lending me a source for the html :)***

  
  


Lora stood, unable to breathe, with the feeling that the world had suddenly dropped away from underneath her. She stared at Aragorn, not daring to move in case he dropped away and disappeared too, gripped with fear that the new look in his eyes would crack and vanish, and never return. They stood frozen for what seemed an eternity, before with a crack time started again, and Lora flinched away a second too late from the new black branch that had sprouted next to her head.

She staggered backwards, still dizzy, but Aragorn had already seized his hand-made staff and was running, half pushing, half dragging her before she could order her limbs to move. Then she only ran, seeing nothing but the path before her and hearing nothing but her own gasps for air, until he put out an arm to stop her, and pulled her down to the floor. "No noise", he whispered harshly into her ear, as she tried to catch her breath. As the thudding of her heartbeat quietened, Lora could hear the crashing of approaching footsteps, garbled voices drifting towards them. Aragorn suddenly was shimmying off his cloak, still crouching, and picking up his staff. He looked at her, and mouthed 'don't move'. She nodded silently, and sat back on her heels, hugging her pack to her like a comforter. Then he was gone.

From where she was, Lora could see the ranger creep through the trees, crouching low, moving like an animal. He slid through the shadows, sharing their colour, becoming as still as the trees they belonged to. A speck of dust made her blink and she lost sight of him for an instant, and could not find him again. Careful not to make a noise, she shifted a little, and could suddenly see what he was making for. Three… four men, not far away, but far enough to be indistinct from each other, talking amongst themselves - obviously wondering where their quarry had got to. As she watched, they decided to split up, and the three without bows walked cautiously in different directions from the clearing, looking more at their feet than around them. Lora shrank down beneath the thicket hiding her, and waited.

Aragorn stopped, just a few hundred yards from the men, but invisible to them, and stood, calming his breathing, clearing his mind. He must be a ranger, through and through; he must become a hunter, and bring down those who hunt him. The staff was rough and warm in his hand, heavy, but not unwieldy. He could feel, rather than see, the trees above and around him; he could hear the men ahead of him talking in low voices, in a speech he could not make out. Then the group split, three spreading outwards, and one staying, an arrow fitted to his bow. _Good,_ thought the ranger, _alone they will be easier._ Like a dark breath of wind through the trees, he was gone.

* * *

_They had found the pack the previous morning, empty of food or water, containing only a leather pouch filled with herbs, obviously discarded as useless, and some scraps of material. They had not touched this, fearing magic. Later, they had found the strong sword, the leather strap eaten away, the marks that had been on the blade indecipherable. This Raklav took, being the leader. There had been little traces of the pair they tracked, only a burnt stick here, a broken path there. The wanderer and the girl had escaped the dark things. When Raklav caught up with them it was accidental, although Raklav claimed not. But then Dak, the fool, had shot the man and missed, and they had run, disappearing among the trees. And now Perut is afraid. He can no longer see or hear his companions, or his brother; the woods are silent, and he knows the trees watch him._

He hears a cry suddenly, close to his left, and runs towards it - he sees nobody, and is gripped with terror. His feet meet with something hard, and he falls abruptly, the air knocked from his lungs. Turning over, he sees his leader's white face staring past him, blood trickling across his forehead. Something in Perut snaps, and he struggles to get up, shouting for Dak, Keb, anybody. There is no reply. He begins to sweat, and wheels aimlessly around, seeing no obvious path. Then he sees him, the wanderer, holding Rakver's bow, his eyes the hard colour of the desert sky before a storm. Something hits, and Perut staggers back, and stares in disbelief at the black arrow sticking from his chest. He raises his hands with difficulty to avert any curse the mage may send with him to his death, but the dark-haired man makes no sound. The last thought that passes through Perut's mind as the blackness encroaches upon his vision, is that he will never see the sands of his homeland again. And that his slayer is also far from home.

  
  



	14. Part 14 a victory

***Long delay again, sorry, but double length to make up for it! Hope the fight scene's not too lame and the fluff isn't too fluffy - it's all for you, Taheg :P Oh, and I've changed chapter 13 a little, so you may want to go back and read that. Nothing important, just me being vain :) and I'm gradually fixing the html on all the previous chapters, thanks for your patience.***

  


_Three down_, thought Aragorn grimly, glad to feel the bow solid and tensed in his hands, an arrow ready at the string. _A patrol of some sort. Looking for us? Or her?_ Aragorn swiftly followed the path that the fourth man had taken with his eyes, and realised with a sickening jolt that he had gone straight towards where Lora was hiding. _Looking for her_.

Lora had knelt in the bushes, burning with frustration and fear at not knowing what was going on, or being able to do anything about it. The silence crept over her, making her skin prickle, and finally she tentatively stretched herself up to ease the ache in her legs, and peeked over the top of the bush. Suddenly something yanked her backwards, and she was swung round, her back pulled against a man's chest, harsh breathing in her ear, an arm in clad in rank-smelling hide pressed over her mouth. Instantly she was dragged from behind to prevent her struggling, and she backpedalled furiously to get her feet on the ground again, biting in vain at the thick waxy folds over her mouth. Finally she found a foothold, and kicked up her heel hard, between where she guessed her captor's legs to be. He made a noise like an angry dog, and his tight grip around her head loosened just long enough for her to pull free, and she turned, locked her hands together tightly, and swung them with the weight of her whole body against the side of his face. Still preoccupied with the pain in his groin, he was taken off guard and staggered sideways, and by the time he could look up Lora was running and bending low as an arrow whistled over her head, and buried itself with a crack in the man's skull.

"That was amazing! Those three didn't even see you coming! And did you see the way I kicked him!" Lora waved her hands around wildly, aware that she was babbling, but unable to stop, as the ranger tried to hold back a smile. Adrenaline sparkled through her veins like sunlight, making her lightheaded, and she spun away laughing in the fresh brightness of the forest, drunk with their victory and her freedom. Her delight was so infectious, her smile so darkly beautiful, that Aragorn suddenly not see a reason not to give into it; he laughed to see her, and he too suddenly felt happy. She staggered towards him helpless with laughter, the trees wheeling around her, and held out her arms to steady herself. The ranger caught her and spun her around, despite her giggling shriek of protest, and then with his hands round her waist lifted her up, and Lora swam dizzily in the green water-like light of the forest that hung around them, feeling that without him there she would fall into the sky.

It seemed like an eternity before he pulled her down, his arms hardly aching, and set her on the unsteady earth again. Aragorn was laughing so much now at her attempts to keep from sliding off the floor that when her legs gave way he collapsed with her, and she lay with her head on his shaking chest, his fingers entwined in her hair, as the treetops high above her gradually slowed their spinning. Skin prickling with the heat under his heavy cloak, his face covered in sweat and dirt from the forest floor and his hand on the girl's head, Aragorn of the Dunedain wondered when he'd ever been so happy before. Surely he must have been sometime - strange, that he couldn't remember. A name, but without a face, entered his mind. Arwen. He must have felt like this with her, like he was emptied of everything but pure white light and music... he suddenly became painfully conscious of his closeness to Lora, his hand tangled in her soft hair (how had it got there, anyway?), her head over his heart. _Arwen_. Icy guilt seized his stomach, and as he rolled Lora off him he realised that he had not thought of her in days, had not counted off before going to sleep the days and months since he had seen her, had not imagined her walking beside him under the trees… had not felt alone. Aragorn turned to Lora, her strange dark eyes puzzled as she watched his face, and suddenly had to bite back rage at himself as he saw that her face was pale, her eyes unnaturally bright. He abruptly pulled her upright, greatly relieved by the excuse to ignore his lapse. She had got over her surprise, and impatiently shook off the ranger's attempts to examine the bruises on her face and hands, which were already beginning to blush from red to purple.

"Aragorn, I'm fine!".

"You're in shock, Lora, you're shaking. Let me see those". She saw the concern in his face and sat still as he ran his fingers across her jaw and cheek, feeling for fractures, and across her swollen knuckles. She seemed as tense as if she had a knife pressed against her back. _Or neck_, he thought wryly, wondering if she would have hit him as hard as she did the other man, and then quickly dismissing the thought. _Of course she would. One attacker is no different from another_. As he had walked Lora away, her face against his chest, a quick glance at the body of the last man had told him she had broken his jaw. Calmer now, she sat miserably on the forest floor, rubbing her bruises, as Aragorn rummaged through his pack, and pulled out a small leather pouch that she had not seen before. He drew from the bag some green fronds with small white flowers that looked fresh, although a little bruised, and gave some to her, then continued to search through it. Lora rubbed some of the leaves between her fingers, and breathed in the scent from them - it was fresh, and cleared her head wonderfully. As she rubbed it into her hands and jaw, making the skin tingle, the smell seemed to wash over her, easing the tension in her muscles, and even relieving some of her confusion.

_What am I to think, when he hugs me, and smiles to make me dizzy, and makes me fly, then suddenly goes back to being so cold, and me being a child…_

When she dared look up at him again, he seemed gentler, and even smiled a little as he passed her what she thought was a crystal pendant, but then saw was a small bottle, filled with liquid. "Drink a little of it, it will warm you up. We must walk a little away from here before you can sleep."

Too drained to argue, Lora tilted the bottle and swallowed what came into her mouth, then blinked in surprise as delicious warmth flowed through her, and energy as if she had just had a weeks sleep, and several good meals, and the bitter leather taste in her mouth disappeared. She found she was not even angry with the man who sat across from her as she handed him back the bottle, and felt she could walk for days as they stood again, and he slung the bow over his shoulder. "I do not know who those people were, but they cannot have been alone."

  
  



	15. Part 15 thoughts

  
  


***Yet again, sorry it took too long. The next part is nearly finished already. Thanks for sticking with me :)***

  
  


***

  


To Aragorn's intense relief, Lora seemed content to leave him to his own thoughts as they walked. He needed to regain some of the space he had lost in that few seconds lapse, where he had laughed, and wanted. Wanting was something he had erased from himself a long time ago, and thought that he was free of forever, and he desperately fought with himself for silence again. He realised now, perhaps too late, that there was something about her that made him behave, against his will, like… like what? Like he was not fifty years her senior, not of Numenorian blood, and not a ranger, born and bred… like he was just a man, perhaps. Fumbling, ignorant and clumsy, but more alive than he ever remembered being; human, with all that that implied. _And that I cannot be. When I swore myself to Arwen, and she to me, I chose the life of the endless, although I myself will end_. How many times had he remembered that? But never regretted it, nor doubted it, and whenever he repeated those words in his mind, he remembered again, and was reassured by their truth and solidity. However, even they could not erase his undeniable reluctance to push away the intoxicating… rightness… that he had felt with the living, laughing body of the girl in his arms. It is natural to want human contact, he thought, vaguely trying to defend himself, then couldn't help a bitter laugh at his own hypocrisy. _Only human_. 

Very well. If, for a minute, he had wanted her more than anything, with a single-mindedness and ferocity he had forgotten he possessed that left him dizzy, it meant nothing. It would not happen again. 

He sighed with the relief of the decision, and steadfastly ignored the miserable ache that coiled tightly in his chest. He would learn from the moment of weakness, and fill in the gap to leave a seamless, impenetrable wall, as he had been doing all his life. Still, his resolve could not prevent a little prayer slipping from him, directed up above the treetops, _gods, let us reach Rohan soon. I cannot take much more of this._

Then there were the attacks. He had not yet had time to think about them, and he could not do it on his feet. The malignant tree-creature explained the attacks on the farmers - Aragorn winced at this, realising that he had completely forgotten his original reason for being in the forest - but the hunting band that had chased them had obviously been after Lora, and were carrying too little to be alone this deep in the woods, even if they were as unfamiliar with forests as they seemed. A search party, then, from a larger group? Or simply displaced, and appearing in the forest as Lora had? _The second-to-last hunter with an arrow in his chest, and dark eyes that looked for an instant as Lora's did when she woke from her dreams of sand…_ the confusion made the ranger tired, and he gave up trying to untangle the many knots in his mind. _All that is clear is that she is not safe. I must get her under Theoden's protection, and then speak with Gandalf._ He pressed his fingers to his forehead in desperation. And the dreams, too… _I cannot explain them, and if she can, she will not. The grey rider seeks me among the horse-tamers…I shall seek him there too, then, among the riders of Rohan. I have little choice._   


As they walked, Lora watched the ranger ahead of her. He strode on grimly, staring ahead, his face stony with either fury or concentration. She couldn't tell. _It's as if there's a mask he wears, which he mustn't let slip. But I don't understand why. He does not hate me, I'm sure, or why would he have-_ his hands on her waist, flying but not letting go, his fingers entwined in her hair and heartbeat against her cheek for so brief a time. 

She breathed deeply, and looked around. The trees were less tall in this part of the forest, less like a high green roof, and more like a cage ceiling, fretted and uneven, too low. Whenever she woke, since the first time, she was surprised to see trees, and for the first five minutes or so, the greenness would hurt her eyes. _I don't understand anything._ But not afraid, still. Maybe she should be - he certainly seemed to expect her to be. Perhaps that was why she wasn't, just so occasionally she could see, in place of concern in his eyes, the glimmer of something else when she got back up unaided, refused his portion of water, was the first to pick up her pack after a stop. Respect? She ached in places she hadn't known existed, certainly, but that meant she was using them, and she knew it wasn't just whatever had been in the crystal vial that made her know she wasn't close to dropping yet. She knew that she needed his protection - she wasn't that self-confident. And he would protect her. Oh yes, she believed that. He would allow no harm to come to her. He had told her. But other than that? 

_I've left him before. Alright, so I nearly got killed, and him too, but I'm learning, and I'm getting stronger all the time. I couldn't have fought off an assault last week. I didn't._ It would hurt to leave him, though. Lora realised that now, thinking about it. She didn't want to, whatever circumstances came up. She liked him, apart from… well, the other thing. She liked his quietness, and his voice when he did speak. She liked his dry humour, when it appeared, and that she had to work to make him smile. She liked knowing he was there, watching out for her, and that he would come after her. _Would I go after him, at risk to my own life?…Yes. I would._

The swiftness of her answer to her own question disturbed her. She frowned. _But I still can leave him._ Still, no need for that just yet, she thought with an inner sigh of relief. _Just as long as I can. When I can't, I'm in trouble._   


They walked in silence until twilight began to trickle down between the leaves, and the shadows became the same colour as the tree trunks. After they had slowly and painfully made camp, Aragorn had had to wake her twice when she fell asleep with her small portion of bread still in her hands, but when she had finally finished eating she picked herself up and crawled to her cloak before dropping into oblivion. He was tired, but he sat awake, looking at the trees above him, occasionally catching sight of the cold bright stars between the endless leaves, and concentrated on thoughts of his betrothed. Somehow he could not picture her here, hungry, lying curled up on a cloak exhausted, her hair tangled and dusty. That had always given him comfort before, that a part of him was immune to mortal cares, but now it only felt like a numbness, insubstantial and unsatisfying. When he saw her in his mind it was always gliding in light, like one of the stars above him come down to walk the earth, or riding, a warrior queen. She never seemed to touch the ground, or cast a shadow. Perhaps she really was like that - he could no longer remember. 

Finally he lay down to sleep, but as soon as he had closed his eyes, a noise woke him. He sat up, startled, until he realised. She was having the dream again. _Am I to get no peace, while I'm with her?_ He shut his eyes in frustration and tried to retreat into himself, as he had done so often before, but her muffled sobs cut into him, and he fumed at himself. He would not get up. He would lie here, and sleep. There was silence in the clearing for a moment, then she cried out again, and Aragorn gave up. He went to her and knelt beside her, without quite knowing why - perhaps feeling that somehow he could enter her nightmare by sheer force of will and save her from whatever demon she battled in her sleep. 

She was curled up under her cloak, as still and tight as a terrified animal, and she whimpered, the tears under her eyelashes shining in the starlight. Aragorn stroked the hair back from her face gently, aware suddenly of the dangerous urge to protect this girl, a blind rage against anything that would try to hurt her. But she did not want to be protected - she had made that clear, many times. He sighed. _But sometimes we must be cared for, whether we like it or not._ The tired man shook her shoulder, and whispered her name to pull her from sleep, when suddenly she froze and stiffened under his touch, making him start in alarm. He thought he had woken her, and was about to speak when she started to whisper, a low, fierce sound that he had to bend over her to catch, and which, as he listened, made his blood run icy through his heart. It was long after she settled finally that he fell into troubled sleep, the unconscious girl's hissed curse in a harsh, guttural speech still ringing in his ears, and with another knot in the confusion of his mind.   
  



	16. Part 16 hurt

  
  


***Heh! So much for being nearly finished *grins sheepishly* I blame a certain potions master. Well, here we go, hope you like this one, thankyou to everyone who's reviewed so far - I can't tell you how much it's boosted my confidence.***

  
  


***

  


Lora was pulled up on her feet and out of the clearing, Aragorn's urgent voice in her ear, before she was even awake. "There's something coming, maybe more men. Stay there". 

As she rubbed her eyes and tried not to yawn he pulled her cloak over her and shoved her into the shadow of a tree, while she tried to remember where she was. It was bright, brighter than the time she usually was woken. He had clearly been awake for hours, though - there were wood-shavings on the ground where he had been carving more arrows for his bow. _Why did he let me sleep?_ She glanced at Aragorn, seeing his intentness, and kept absolutely still. Finally he began to straighten up, silently and carefully as a cat, to look out for what hunted them. He stood for a second, scanning the woods, and suddenly there was a dull, sick thud, and Lora saw the flicker of disbelief in Aragorn's eyes as he saw the arrow embedded in his left arm. He seemed strangely calm, though, in the second that he looked at her before saying, "Run". 

And they ran, soon shifting to a stumbling fast walk, for what seemed like forever, through the forest, silent except for the far-off noises of pursuit that they sometimes caught over their own footsteps. No birds sang, and the wind died down as the sun, such as it was, reached its highest point, making the forest airless and warm. Arrows continued to hiss out at them from the foliage, usually falling short of them, but they were enough to deter them from stopping, even when eventually they no longer appeared. 

Aragorn had pulled the arrow from his arm, gritting his teeth silently, and had partially wrapped his cloak around it, holding it close to his chest as they marched. Lora had stopped, when she had seen this, and had swung off her pack to reach for the last of their stale water to give him, but had swiftly started moving again when an arrow had brushed her hair. She later realised that it had caught her ear, and the blood from the small sting had trickled down her neck, mingling with the sweat. 

They must have been walking for hours when the rain came, although Lora had lost all track of time long before. They had left the arrows far behind, and as the sky above the trees darkened, the heat in the forest became more oppressive, and the air itself seemed to sweat. The first warm, stale drops of rain on her face were no relief from the heat. It did not stop, and as the sun dropped lower the black clouds and thick meshing layer of leaves brought night early to the forest; it did nothing to lessen the force of the rain, though, which was coming down in sheets, soaking them both to the skin, running over her nose and mouth to stop the air, trickling in cold rivulets down her neck from her hair, making her pack and clothes a cold and heavy burden. _How can there be so much water in the sky?_

Continually blinking the drops away from her eyes, Lora watched Aragorn ahead of her through the pouring rain in the almost non-existent light as he stumbled onward. He was still holding his arm tightly to his chest. He had ignored it at first, simply shut the pain out of his mind to focus on getting them both away. His strength scared her a little. His breathing had become harsher, more difficult, she could hear him gasp as he staggered on patch of mud, even above the pounding of the rain. The noise came from the leaves high above them, sounding like a waterfall, as the rain found its paths through the branches to fall in streams on the bare ground below. _We can't go on like this._

"Aragorn" . 

Her voice, the name, it took an age to seep into his mind. Slowly, so slowly, he forced through the iron fog of concentration. _No. Stop. Answer the girl. Her name is Lora. Answer her._ He didn't realise his feet had stopped moving until she spoke again. 

"Aragorn, we have to stop." 

He turned to face her, his dark hair dripping over his eyes, his skin pale in the half-light. Lora started in shock, and for the first time it occurred to her to wonder if the arrow had been poisoned. _Surely he would have done something about it, if it had been. He's not that stupid_. But then, now she thought about it, how long had it been since he'd slept? Or eaten? He seemed hunched over, his whole body tensed against the pain and cold, as if he was bearing the weight of the water-heavy sky. Even now, when he seemed barely able to focus on her, he started to protest. She looked at him, and bit down on her pride. 

"Aragorn… I can't go on. I'm exhausted. We must stop". He didn't move, but a wan half-smile flickered across his face. His voice seemed far away when he said, with an effort she could see in his eyes, 

"You're lying". 

_Can't he just give in for once? Can't he see I'm trying to help him?_ Lora's temper flared suddenly, uncontrollably, at his stubbornness, and she almost hit him in her rage at the cold and the rain, and her misery, and his pain. She wrapped herself in control. _No. It won't help._ Finally she smiled wryly, but he had seen the blaze in her eyes, and she knew he had surrendered as she said, "at least this way we'll die warm. Come on, under that tree looks pretty dry". The relief washed over him so that he swayed suddenly as his exhaustion redoubled. Alarmed, Lora took his icy hand and led him to the tree, as his head lolled. 

Out of the rain her energy returned, and she swiftly dropped her pack and helped pull down Aragorn's, but the leather strap caught on his bad arm despite her efforts, and he gasped as the pain lanced through him. Lora immediately crouched over the packs, rummaging through his bag for the leather pouch containing the elven vial and the herbs. Without warning Aragorns' legs gave way, and he collapsed against the trunk of the tree, jolting his wound even more. This time the pain was so great that tears came to his eyes. He was so cold, so tired, and that voice, that little nagging voice throbbing at the back of his head, _"…She's not tired, the girl could go on… you're pathetic, the weakness will take you and you will die here in the rain and the cold, and the foul beings will pick her bones…"_. Fear and shame swam in front of him, and tears ran down his face as he wept impotently, his back against the harsh bark of the ancient tree. 

Lora desperately pushed her soaking hair back from her eyes and thrust once more into the bag, and drew her hand out victorious. She ran to Aragorn and clumsily embraced him, straining to pull him upright against the tree. She murmured to him softly, kissing the salt and rain from his face and beard as she rummaged for the unyielding crystal with her other hand, pleading with him without listening to what she was saying. 

"Aragorn, Dain my love, it's alright… sweet, don't cry, please don't cry… please, you must swallow this". Cradling his damp head in one hand she tipped the vial of elven liquid into his mouth, and he struggled with it like a baby, choking as he swallowed. Lora licked greedily the trail of fluid that trickled from his mouth down his chin, not daring to take a whole sip herself. She rested against him for a minute as the warmth spread through them both, and he closed his eyes. She sighed, and reluctantly pulled him back from sleep. "Aragorn! Aragorn, you have to move now. You can sleep in a moment, I have to look at your arm. Please, love, just a few more minutes, I promise, just stay awake…". 

He sluggishly tried to help her, only half-conscious, getting more in the way than not, as she stripped off his soaking cloak and tunic that stuck to his chest with the water and blood. It was now almost completely dark, but she could see that the wound was deep. She opened the bag of herbs, and pulled out one sprig after another, sniffing each, trying to find the herb that he had used to stop the hurt on her leg. Finally she found it, and pulled off some leaves with her teeth, unwrapping a bandage as she chewed them. 

Only when she had bound his arm tightly, although far from neatly, and his eyes had closed again, did she allow herself to feel her own exhaustion, and it swept over her like a wave. She slowly and painfully struggled out of her own sopping cloak and tunic. They would need drying. _Even if we could risk a fire, though, there can't be any dry wood for miles..._ Lora mused hopelessly, as she twisted her hair back to squeeze out the water. She gazed towards where she knew Aragorn was, although she could no longer see him through the dark. Part of her still refused to believe that he had walked so far with such a wound. It should have been an hour before he passed out, simply from loss of blood. _More than a man should be able to do… _ she chose the cloak that seemed dryest and forced as much water from it as she could, before crawling across the gnarled roots to the sleeping man. As she pulled the cloak over him he whispered her name, and she saw his eyes open as she crawled under it beside him. 

He was freezing, she realised. Without thinking she pulled his unresisting hands against her side to warm them, and he made a noise in the back of his throat as she pressed her warm body against his cold bare skin. He greedily drank in her heat, spreading his hands across her back, crushing her against him. She pulled herself up onto his lap and laid her cheek on his shoulder, willing her heat into him, almost fainting with exhaustion and the feel of his strong arms holding her so tightly, his body underneath hers, his soft voice whispering sweet things to her in a language she did not understand. His gentle lilting speech blended with the hazy murmur of the rain, and it seemed for a moment to Lora as if she could understand them both. Soon healing sleep fell onto the two walkers, their strength drained, supported only by the ancient tree that watched and sheltered them, deep into the night.   
  
  



	17. Part 17 waking

***See previous chapters for excuses on my tardiness :) ... can't believe i'm on chapter 17. Wow. I'm also beginning to get jealous of my own character. Not good. As always, please R&R!***

  
  


The long night bled indistinguishably into the next day, all light drowned by the stormclouds high above the trees, the rain never stopping. Aragorn woke once, thrown out of sleep by evil dreams, but a sleepy murmur from the girl lying over him drove them back, and soon enough the soft patter of water outside the perimeter of the tree's shelter soothed him, and he slept again, forgetting he had ever woken.   


When consciousness crept over him again, he automatically started to get up, but found that he could not; here was a small noise, and he looked down and saw the dark, messy head on his chest, felt the girl shift a little in his lap, missing the weight of his arm. For one terrifying moment he could not remember what she was doing there, then he remembered, and the relief was tempered with shame. He had misjudged his own weakness, and she had saved him from the fever by warming him; saved herself, too, for if he had become sick, there would have been no hope for her. It reassured him, to remember that, and gave him the will to ignore her warmth, and to swiftly push down the vague memories that tugged at him, of whispers when he was half-delirious. Best for both of them that he did not think of that, now. 

She moved again, and a shiver ran down his side where her hand brushed his skin. He swiftly rolled her off him with his good arm, covering her with the cloak, and painfully and slowly pulled himself up, ignoring the protests from various parts of his body. He was surprised at how unsteady his legs were at first, and at his light-headedness when he stood. After a minute he gingerly tried lifting his sore arm again to look at it. It was dressed, tightly bound with ragged cotton, and was dark with blood, but none of it was fresh. 

"I bandaged it, but I wasn't sure if it would hold." 

She was fully awake, the cloak wrapped around her, her eyes bright as they searched his face, seeking something there. 

"It is very good. Thankyou." 

She nodded, and watched as he found the limp waterskins, and took them to hang them on a branch to catch the rain. He walked slowly, to hide his dizziness, but that faded quickly. 

"I forgot to do that", she said, quietly. 

"They will not take long to fill". 

He painfully pulled on his damp, blood-stiffened tunic and cloak, and tested the movement in his other arm. It was painful, but bearable. 

"I thought-" 

He turned, and saw with surprise that she had flushed deep red, and was looking at the ground. She bit her lip, in confusion or embarrassment, and when she spoke again, he could hardly hear her. 

"You seemed so sick, I thought I needed to help you. I shouldn't have touched you. I'm sorry." 

He stared at her, astonished. Then he saw her eyes flicker for a second up at him, fearfully, and his mind cleared, as if he had been splashed with cold water. He knelt down by her, and touched her cheek to make her look at him. 

"Lora, you did nothing wrong. If you had not acted as you did, we would both be lost now. I was foolish, to underestimate my wound. Forgive me." 

She turned her face away, and with a cold stab of shame he saw tears in her eyes, and he fought the urge to put his arms around her, seeking desperately for another way to comfort her. _It is I who should be ashamed, not she._

"Lora, please believe me." 

She rubbed her hand violently across her eyes, and sniffed. Then she huffed like a small child, and frowned, mock-sulkily. 

"I'm hungry." 

Aragorn was surprised into laughter, and Lora looked up, a wry, sad smile on her face, so wistful that he felt his heart might break, and he could not meet her eyes. _I can only cause pain, by letting her care for me. Only pain._

After a moment, she said, "Are we near the end of the forest?", and he realised how tired she was, and that they had no more food. He got up, briskly. 

"We travelled far, yesterday. We may reach the first settlements by tonight."   


They drank a little, and walked on sore and worn feet, the wound in Aragorn's arm gnawing when he did not concentrate on something else, the fine, cold rain settling over them, chilling to the bone, although no longer soaking them. He realised, as the pale light filtering through the trees brightened, that they had come even farther than he thought in the last, forced run of the previous evening, that he now could hardly remember making. The trees began to be spaced a little further apart, and there was more grass where sunlight could reach the ground more freely. They stopped, frequently but briefly, and Aragorn spoke to Lora a little of the first settlements at the boundaries of the forests, of the people who did not cut the living wood of the forest, in the shadow of Fangorn, but collected only the limbs that fell, and kept pigs, and grew what they could in the shadow of the great trees. They did not have much, but they would shelter for a night two wanderers coming out of the forest, if only out of fear. 

It was a surprise when the forest ended, and they stumbled out into the open air, and saw the sky for the first time since they had been above the trees, so long ago, but only a few days before. Lora felt as if a huge weight had been taken from her shoulders; the trees stood behind her, tall and dark, but before her was an open plain that seemed to stretch out forever, and she almost laughed in relief, despite her exhaustion. She wanted to get away from under the shadow of the forest, but there was no other shelter from the rain that drove harder now, so they skirted the borders of the woods, and the going did not seem as hard. She could not see much beyond the nearest hill, but she could not take her eyes off the horizon, and once saw a small, black figure moving across the skyline, and pointed, excited. 

"A rider, on a horse", Aragorn told her, and she watched it, but it came no closer, and eventually disappeared again. 

"We will follow him, tomorrow, if we are strong enough." 

Lora was too delighted to be under the sky to question him, but he woke in her fears that she had forgotten while concentrating on surviving. She tried to shake them off, and then saw that he had stopped. 

"I must take you to Edoras, Lora. I will look for an old companion there. He is wise, he will know what to do." 

"Does he live there?" 

She thought he saw something guarded flicker across his face, but he answered her openly enough. 

"No. He goes where he is needed, and I believe he will be there." 

She tried to be quiet, but could not stop the question bursting from her. 

"Will he know who I am?" 

He looked at her, his grey eyes steady, and she felt reassured, although she could not say why she should be. 

"He may have some idea of how you came to be in the forest, and why. He is very wise, and very old." 

Again she had the feeling, as he turned away to the skyline, that he had looked at her askance, just for a second, watching her in a way he had not done since he had told her, "I believe you are exactly what you appeared to be". It no longer made her angry, but left a cold, uneasy weight in her stomach. She dismissed it wearily as they went on their way again. She had more pressing things to concentrate on, like staying upright. She was tired.   
  



	18. Part 18 choices

***I really am sorry about the time between this chapter and the last. It's been busy, and I've been distracted in other fandoms; I am committed to this story, and I promise I will finish it. I still intend to write a sequel, too. I really appreciate that people are following this story, and I hope I don't disappoint. If you'd like to be notified by e-mail when I update, let me know. This chapter's longer to make up for it.***

  
  


* * *

_The man and the girl came to Beryn's door just after the clouds had finally cleared to reveal the moon, full and high in its course. The man inclined his head at their threshold, tall and dark with one arm held stiff against his side, and asked for shelter as humbly as if she were a high-born lady. Desten frowned and shook his head from just inside the door, and Beryn was turning apologetically back to the travel-worn man when the youth behind him, whom she had taken for his son, stumbled forward a little, and she saw that 'he' was, in fact, a girl, face vague and shuttered with exhaustion. She looked at him in half-wary inquiry; slavers were rarely seen in the free lands of men, but they heard rumours. _

"She is my sister-daughter. I am returning her to the house of her father", he said, and the girl raised her face suddenly at the sound of his voice, like a newborn foal to the sun. Beryn stepped back to allow them in, brushing off her husband's furious gesticulations. 

The girl toppled onto the rug Beryn laid down for them, and had barely rolled to face the fire before falling instantly asleep. The poor thing looked spent, she thought. They were both filthy from travelling, and she did not doubt that they had truly become lost in the woods, but if the man was a lowland-peasant of Rohan then Beryn was a horse's daughter. He was quiet, though, and civil, and she asked no questions. She also doubted their story of she being kin to him. Before she crept to the bed she shared with her husband she had sneaked a glance back at him, and saw him looking down at the sleeping girl with a curious, fierce expression on his face; when he finally lay down on the blanket he was facing away, as if afraid to touch her. 

The next morning, he was awake early. Beryn gave him a little bread and what milk she could spare; when he ate less than half, setting the rest aside for the still-sleeping girl, she gave him a little of her own share too. He seemed restless, and woke the girl shortly after dawn, speaking her name softly. She ate the bread quickly, like a starving animal, and could not quite hide her disappointment that there was no more, although she tried valiantly. 

She was a pretty little thing, even under the layers of dirt and encrusted blood. Seeing her in the light of day, Beryn wondered about slaving again; the girl was dark, as she'd heard the Southern folk were, but that thought was put to rest quickly by the way the man looked at her, watched her as she ate. Perhaps he did not know it, but he even gave Desten a murderous look when he earned a small smile from the girl with his good-morning bow, which had ceased to break the ice with Beryn long ago. 

Perhaps the girl was an escaped slave, she thought, before dismissing it as an old woman's fantasies. No doubt she was what she appeared to be, and he too. She gave them a little dry biscuit and fruit wrapped in cloth, and accepted the man's grave thanks and the girl's awkward curtsey with a gracious smile. Desten watched them go with her, and then limped back into the house as she went to feed the pig. As they reached the crest of the hill and left Beryn's sight, it started to rain again.   


* * *

  


The day had been a thin pale line on the foothills swiftly fading overhead into black before they saw the lights; the stars were all out by the time they were close enough to hear the muted grunts of pigs in fenced pens amongst the small dwellings, and smell the bitter smoke that wove its way from the centre of the roofs. With the smoke came the promise of food, and Lora thought, _I'm hungry_ as they picked their way down the shallow ridge in the near-black. Several minutes later she found that the words were still rolling over and over in her head in a mindless litany in time with her footsteps. 

She did not remember reaching the tiny hamlet afterwards except for a brief impression of firelight, and Aragorn's voice, accented with a burr that she had never heard in it before, lying uneasily to the small woman who took them in. She supposed, trudging away from there again in the cold dawn of the next day, that her exhaustion had simply wiped away her hunger, because she certainly had eaten nothing before she slept. Her stomach gnawed a little less now after the harsh bread and milk, but it was raining again, and Lora was miserable. Not only that, but she was increasingly aware that their journey would soon be ending, and was now gripped with ceaseless foreboding that chilled her worse than any rain. Fixing her eyes on the figure trudging ahead of her did nothing to ease her fear of the future, although she feared nothing else with him anymore. 

_He hasn't told me everything_, she thought, as she had many times since his last strange look, since he had frightened her in the forest with his questioning of her name. _But perhaps he would, if I could ask the right questions._

Lora thought of Aragorn's grey eyes, and tried to imagine him lying to her, but could not. It was far easier to imagine him evading the question, making her so angry that she forgot what she wanted, or simply turning and walking away. But then, perhaps she would not want to hear the answer either. 

She remembered the conversation they had had that morning, as they sat at the low table with their meagre breakfast. She had been deeply asleep when she felt a movement next to her, and opened her eyes to see him quietly pick himself up off the rug that she had not even been aware of sharing with him. She had lain still, feigning sleep, while he had stretched his wounded arm slowly, frowning, and had adjusted the binding so that he could bend it at the elbow. It had been little more than a full day since the arrow had bedded itself in his arm, and it was the only time that Lora ever felt afraid of him, even when he had had a knife to her throat. 

Then he turned to speak her name, and she pretended to wake, knowing that he probably had only done it for their hosts' sake, as he always knew when she was watching him.   
  


"You're not… not like me, are you?", she had murmured, as soon as the shrewd-eyed old woman left the small room to wake her husband. 

She hesitated when she saw him flinch, but continued resolutely, rolling the last of her breadcrumbs into tiny pellets. 

"I saw that wound, you lost too much blood. You should be -". 

She stopped again, feeling the pain that flashed from him at the accusation in her voice. She finished, softer, "You shouldn't be walking, anyway". 

For once, he seemed at a loss. He sat and stared at the table with her, then started to say something, and hesitated. Finally he had said, cautiously, 

"Lora, I am… older than I seem". 

She had looked up in surprise, and was caught once again by the deep sadness in his face that made her throat ache. _He's seen this before_, she thought suddenly, remembering the way the husband had looked at him as his wife stepped back to let them in, his thick, weathered features standing out in the firelight like a stone guardian's. _He is not trusted, and yet his whole life is spent trying to protect people._

The old woman's husband staggered through the tattered curtain that divided tiny dwelling, grinning toothlessly, and bowed so elaborately, his stiff leg flung out on one side, that Lora could not help forgetting her confusion for a minute to smile at him. Aragorn had not caught her eye again before they trudged off into another wet day of walking, finally heading away from the shadow of the forest. Still she dwelt on his words. _I am older than I seem._ What did that mean? That he was different from ordinary men, that he lived longer, that he would never grow old? Or was it a warning of some other kind?   
  


The sun was somewhere overhead, although it could not be seen through the thick layer of clouds, when Lora slipped on the muddy ground and fell forward. Aragorn was instantly beside her to help her up, offering her his arm for as short a time as possible, and he tugged a shrivelled russet apple out of his pack to share while they stopped, and Lora cleaned the mud from her face with her cloak. 

"Where we are going, I will be different too", she said on impulse, and he blinked, caught off guard; the way he looked at Lora then, she thought, was as if he were seeing her for the first time. 

"Yes, you will be different", he said abruptly. "They will call you the Southron girl because of your dark hair and eyes, and they will whisper about you, and stare in the streets. Rohan has become a fearful place of late, and you -", he broke off suddenly and shook his head, as if to ward something off. Lora stared, but managed to recover herself enough to reply before his expression closed off again. 

"Then why are we going there? Aragorn -", he made an abrupt, impatient gesture with his hand, and Lora cut him off irritably, "They will not hurt me, you will protect me, I know". 

His laugh was short and bitter. She looked up, hurt, before she realised that his anger, if that was what it was, was directed at himself. He turned from her, and started to walk again, and she barely caught his muttered words dulled by the rain. 

"You were wiser when you ran from me". 

She stared after him, unable to decide which she felt more; anger at his turning away from her, or desire to comfort him. 

"Aragorn!". 

He did not stop, so Lora ran past him and blocked his path, planting her hands firmly on his shoulders before he had the chance to step back, feeling him tense as she did so, although she was careful not to hurt his arm. She looked him squarely in the eyes, and saw something that might have been fear. 

"I trust you", she said. 

He flinched with a pain she could not understand, and muttered, "I do not deserve your faith". 

"I trust you", she said again, as if she could brand him with the words, before she stood on her toes, and brushed her lips gently over his. 

He breathed in as she pulled back shakily, the air seeming to crackle between them, but did not push her away; and Lora noticed distantly that he was actually trembling under her touch. His voice was low as he said, his eyes burning into her, "I do not trust myself".   
  


Some part of Aragorn remembered that there had been another moment like this, where the world had seemed to hang in the balance between them. There were no arrows to drag away her hold that froze and burned him, to tug the shadow of the lightest of touches from his mouth. "I do not trust myself", he told her, barely able to speak, all his will focused on not moving, not forever shattering the fragile barrier that prevented him from betraying his own fate and the promises of a previous life. 

He tried to will a warning into her mind, beg her to let him be, watching her eyes dance between confusion, fear, and a hunger that echoed his own. Unable to pull away, fearing and desiring in equal parts, he hung for a heartbeat's space before comprehension entered her gaze, and in disbelief he saw her decision as she deliberately let go of him, and stepped back, setting him free.   
  



	19. Part 19 the golden hall

Aragorn watched her walk away, the sound of the rain rushing in his ears. He knew suddenly, with a certainty that stunned him, that it was too late; she had given him the choice, and it no longer mattered, because he loved her. She had given him the choice. _I trust you. _She wanted him, she had offered herself to him. Everything. He could hardly comprehend it. _But do you have the strength to refuse her, son of Arathorn? _He asked himself, still half-dazed by the shock of feeling that had washed over him. _Or to accept?_

She had felt real in his arms. He wanted her. He could not deny those things. To make such a choice, though; to deny his former life, to forget his former dreams and loves, that would take more than a mere desire, a chance affinity that would, no doubt, prove fleeting as a season's passage. And yet, what had he wanted, before this last week? A life that now seemed as far away from him now as his long-distant childhood when he walked the flower-strewn paths of the Elven realm, as insubstantial as a dream. Aragorn clenched his fist in frustration and cursed at the ground quietly, but still did not follow her.

_And where would you go with this girl, who appeared from nowhere, who remembers little more about herself than her name? Who may yet disappear again at a moment's notice? What would you do, live off the land, keep pigs like a peasant of the Rohirrim?_

No. Cold settled in Aragorn's heart, and he shook his head, scattering raindrops. No, it was ridiculous, and he would have to convince himself of that fact, remind himself for every waking minute around the girl. A girl who dreamt of sand, who cursed in her sleep in a language like that of the men Aragorn had killed to protect her not four days before, the four lost men in the dark of the forest. _She may yet prove to be a tool of something less than good, _Aragorn told himself, although deep inside, he could not believe it of her. She was too young, too naïve. _Too far ahead. _

With a start Aragorn began walking, quickly falling into a loping stride that calmed his mind and settled his resolution. He would take her to a place where she would be safe; he would take counsel from Gandalf, if he was there – and what made him think he would be there? A waking dream, most likely, caused by hunger or exhaustion – then he would leave, and never see the girl again. Yes. With each step, he seemed to tread down the flickers of guilt and doubt that tried to rise to grasp him. He did not look at her figure, now trudging the slope of the next hill, shoulders hunched with misery or cold, and did not allow himself to remember the touch of her lips on his and the jolt that had leaped through his body at the touch, or her sweet smile at the old man in the hovel that morning, given even in the midst of her hunger and exhaustion, or her eyes, urgent and fierce and pleading, _I trust you. _

As Lora walked, she did not look behind her, or think, _he does not want me, _or, _I was an idiot to think he did. _She walked, and only felt the rain trickling down her face and neck, slowly soaking her clothes through again, welcoming the numbness it brought her. As the pale morning lightened and the sun rose, even behind the endless rain clouds, from a high point Lora could see a dark shape far ahead, something that rose above the rolling hilltops, seeming to loom strangely against the flat grasslands. As they walked – or she, for she was no longer sure that Aragorn was following behind her, but could not bring herself to look – it grew in shape and became a settlement on a high hill; closer still, and the top of the hill became a building, a great hall. Towards mid-afternoon, after Lora had stopped briefly to finish the dried apple Aragorn had given her earlier, but not long enough to think, the rain stopped, and the sun showed itself briefly from behind the clouds. As it danced across the steaming plains it fell for a few seconds across the still far-off hall; as Lora stood and watched, its roof flashed with bright gold. She kept walking.

Later, Lora remembered very little of that last part of the journey towards the Golden Hall, seat of Theoden, Lord and King of the Rohirrim. She remembered stumbling to a halt at the gates so high that it hurt to look up at them, when the early stars were already half-way across the sky. She did not remember a guard asking for her name, but she did remember Aragorn answering in a low voice, and the rush of mingled relief and renewed misery – _how long had he been so close behind her and said nothing to her?_ – and their slow, painful walk up the cobbled slope of the town, past the dark shuttered buildings.

They approached the high dais of the hall, and there was another exchange with guards in a speech she did not understand. She stumbled, and nearly fell. Kind voices spoke to her as hands took hold of her and gently half-steered, half-carried her through low, dark passages to candlelight and a bed. A cup was pressed to her lips, but she could not drink; her head lolled onto a friendly shoulder, and she was asleep.

She woke after an age, a year, and the first thing she knew was that she was very, very thirsty. She sat up and swung her legs out of the bed, but suddenly the room was swimming, spots danced before her eyes, and, unable to keep her balance, she pitched forward. She woke on the stone floor, with someone picking her up.

"Oh dear, oh dear, my poor girl, I never did see such a thing..."

Dazed, Lora was vaguely aware of being manhandled back into bed, and having something dabbed on her face. It hurt.

"Poor starved little mite, hasn't eaten for days, I shouldn't think, and trying to get out of bed on those feet... there, dear, can you hear me? You sleep a little longer, and I'll fetch something from the kitchens."

The room had ceased to sway, but darkness was encroaching on her vision again. Before Lora lost consciousness, she caught a hazy glimpse of a matronly face leaning over her to go with the kind voice, and she slipped back into sleep with the comforting sense of being cared for.

The voice roused her again, much later, and before Lora was fully awake she was being helped to sit up, and was given water. She now found she was parched, and drank greedily until the woman took away the cup with a gentle tut. "Now, dear, take it gently, or you'll be sick. My goodness, I never did see anything so starved. Don't move now, eat a little of this."

It was soup, hot, nutritious and wonderful, and with every spoonful Lora felt strength creeping back into her limbs that had felt like water. She finished the bowl, and was so desolate when there was no more that she almost burst into tears, weakness washing over her again. The hands lowered her onto the pillow again and stroked her hair, the voice keeping up a flow of platitudes and comforts, and Lora quickly fell asleep again, no longer feeling as if she might dissolve and seep into the bed-sheets.

She woke again, and there was daylight in the room, but Lora did not think it was morning. She was alone, but she could hear the murmur of voices not far off, her chattering nurse and another woman, obviously waiting for a noise from her to enter. This time, she cautiously propped herself up on her elbows, and even that required a great effort, so she lay back again, and took stock of her surroundings. She was in a low room, sparsely but solidly furnished, and very clean. Someone had removed her boots, and, she realized as she woke further, all her other clothes as well. She was wearing a plain white shift, as spotless and well-made as the room, and as many times repaired. The walls were of plain stone, except for the one to her left, which held a hanging. On it was emblazoned, in faded colours, the head of a horse. _The riders of Rohirrim. _Who had said that to her? Aragorn? _Aragorn. _With that thought, Lora's head sank back onto the pillow, suddenly feeling leaden. Where was he? She didn't think he had followed her here to this room, but she wasn't certain. She flushed hot suddenly at the thought that he might have undressed her. No, surely not. The woman must have done that. Almost as if she were summoned, at that moment the nurse bustled in.

"Awake, dear? Feeling better?"

She felt Lora's forehead, and frowned, concerned. "You may have a bit of a fever there, my love."

Lora blinked and hastily tried to gather her thoughts. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I feel much better."

Her voice came out rough and strange, as if she hadn't used it for weeks.

"There's a good girl. Now, we'll feed you up a little more, and then there's a basin of hot water for you, and a towel. By the golden roof, but I never did see such a sight as you when you came in."

A bath suddenly seemed like a very good idea, but food even more so, and Lora managed to sit up without help and gratefully ate the crusty roll and ham she was given, and drank a small cup of weak wine which ran warm through her veins as the nurse kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation.

"Now, we haven't been introduced proper as yet, or not when you were awake enough to understand, poor thing. My name's Thrandyl, and you're in the traveller's lodgings as such we have here at the golden court for those who seek an audience with the king. Not that there are many in these days, and not many of those but that he'll see..."

She sighed, and Lora steeled herself to ask the one question that seemed important around her mouthful of bread, "Where is my friend? Is he still here?"

Thrandyl looked almost affronted. "Your uncle? Bless me, child, but you don't think he would leave you here alone here? Goodness, what a notion. He's been fretting about this door all yesterday while you were sleeping, and I told him, 'Be off, you can't help her by a-bothering me, and you look piped yourself.'

Lora suppressed a smile at the thought of Aragorn being chased off by this mother hen, but was too tired to suppress a foolish, happy glow. _He was there all yesterday, he was worried. Have I slept so long? But he hasn't left me, he hasn't gone yet. He won't leave me yet._ Another thought occurred to her, and she nearly choked in her hurry to ask.

"And his arm? How is it? Is he well?"

Thrandyl frowned, then nodded vigorously, remembering. "Oh, he's had that washed and bound. I've no doubt he'll heal fast, the wound is clean, and he's a valiant fellow, no doubt. You're fortunate to have such a kinsman, indeed."

Lora nodded, hoping she did not see her wince, and allowed herself to be levered out of bed. Her felt as shaky as a baby's when she first stood up, and it hurt to put her weight on her feet, but after a few hesitant steps leaning on Thrandyl she found that she could walk. It wasn't far. She washed, with a little help, and Thrandyl plunged her head into the warm basin and scrubbed her hair with soap several times before she was satisfied, combing it through and picking out knots with a thick wooden comb. Lora endured this stoically while trying to work out how long it had been since she had last washed. _I must smell worse than one of their horses. I'm lucky they didn't put me on straw instead of sheets. I wonder when Aragorn last washed? _That thought made her flush again, for quite different reasons from before, but luckily Thrandyl was distracted by a particularly difficult knot, and did not notice.

Lora felt human again after her wash, the clean smell of soap wrapping around her like a warm blanket. Thrandyl disappeared briefly while she dried her hair on a rough towel, and returned with clothes, a long, woollen dress like the one she wore, but richer and better made. It was dark green, and felt strange after weeks in ranger's clothes, but it fit her well, and was comfortable.

"There now," said Thrandyl, stepping back and looking at her with satisfaction, "I daresay you look fit to meet the king now."

_The king? What?_

"Do – am I seeing the king?" Lora stuttered, her legs suddenly cold and weak again, and she sat down heavily on the bed. Thrandyl clucked reproachfully.

"Oh my love, indeed no. What a dunce I am, frightening you like that. Not yet. But perhaps you will, when you are well again! Your uncle has gained an audience with Theoden King tomorrow, but he can tell you that himself. Oh, dear me, I am a forgetful so-and-so! There's you, asking about your uncle, and me forgetting you are to eat with him tonight. Some good news for you, my duck!"

Lora nodded dazedly, her heart suddenly feeling quite uncertain about whether it was to continue beating, and even more uncertain over whether this was caused by terror or delight. However, noticing that Thrandyl was leaving, she managed to marshal her resources.

"I'd like to go outside, please, if I can. To get some fresh air. Can I go out whenever I want?"

The old woman seemed to have remembered something she needed to do, and waved distractedly as she opened the door, as if to make free the whole world to Lora.

"Indeed, indeed my dear, this is no prison! Don't you go too far now, though, you're still as weak as a little lamb. Anyone will return you back here if you get lost, though, don't you fret. Wrap up warm, there's a chill wind on the plains today..."

She hummed her way out of the room, leaving Lora in a swirl of confusion. _I don't even know what time it is now, I can't count the hours until dinner. Maybe that's a good thing. _She yearned for some air to clear her head. There was a thick shawl lying on the bed. Lora picked it up and cautiously opened the door of her room, half expecting Aragorn to be there, pacing impatiently. He wasn't, and Lora set off down the low passage, choosing a direction at random, before she could decide whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

She soon came to a window set in the wall, to look out of which she had to bend down a little, despite her own small size. She saw a low wall outside, and some steps, and a man in grey walking slowly up them, leaning on a large stick. He soon passed out of her sight, and then a large woman stepped right in front of the window, obscuring her view. Lora straightened up with a sigh, and moved on. After passing several doors on the left and right, she felt the brush of cold air on her skin and still-damp hair, and wrapped the shawl around her with a shiver. Then there was a half-open door to be pushed open heavily, and bright silver daylight, and a cold wind. Lora stepped outside, and gasped.

She was standing on a steep, paved street, outside one of a cluster of well-built, low buildings obviously associated with the great hall on the summit of the hill, some way above her. From her vantage point she could look over the small, scattered town that ran down the hill, down to the high wooden gates and the walls, and beyond, across the sweeping plains of this place. _Rohan_. Lora whispered the name aloud to herself and heard the wind in its syllables. It howled desolately across the plains, as if trying to reach something forever beyond it. There were no trees here, none for many leagues, maybe, except the forest which she and Aragorn had come out of, so long ago. Now, with the sky seeming to fill the world, Lora could not remember the sound of leaves. But she remembered Aragorn's voice, high up in that sky of green, guiding her gently as they descended through branches after their imprisonment inside the tree, naming the places of the world for her. _To the south, the halls of the Rohirrim, the horse tamers. _How many days ago had that been? Lora's head hurt, trying to count the days, which seemed too few. _And how many days before that, since I woke up in the forest? All the days I can remember, my whole life. _

It was cold, and Lora drew the shawl more tightly around her, her teeth beginning to chatter. The bare landscape suddenly seemed too big, and she turned to look at the imposing hall above her, needing something substantial to rest her eyes on. The structure seemed the essence of all she had seen here; sturdily beautiful and old, but not beyond imagination, it was reassuringly man-made. Its roof was of gold, and today it gleamed dully under the bleak sky. But suddenly, as Lora stared at it, she caught a brighter flash of gold beneath it, and stepped back a little to see. The hall stood on a sort of plateau, an unwalled stone courtyard around it, and on this high platform, there was a woman walking, dressed in a garment too dark for her pale skin, her fair hair whipping around her face. Actually, Lora amended as she watched her, walking was the wrong word; she was _pacing, _right to the edge of the plateau, and always recoiling a little as she reached it, as if striking iron bars. Lora stared at her for some time, fascinated at the far-off figure, roaming up and down like a caged thing. _She never looks at the hall... she's always facing outwards, even when she turns around. I wish I could see her face from here..._

At last, the cold penetrated even the warm shawl, and, teeth chattering, Lora shivered her way back to bed, the image of the fair-haired woman staying with her even as she reached her own blessedly warm room again, and following her into her instant sleep. She even forgot to think about Aragorn, and only woke when Thrandyl came to fetch her, some hours later.


End file.
